Drifting into the Expansive Belly of USA
It was Sunday.
I find myself in a little nondescript Japanese car, nonchalantly drifting out of my beloved country, and gently gliding down highway I-90 towards Pittsburgh, all within a matter of hours. Borders are porous. People are mobile. Everyone is traveling. In the cars passing by, I glimpse at a serendipitous cross-section of humanity, free of associations. We are all on the run.
Then, the radio clicks onto a lonely country station, broadcasting into the vast sky, waiting to be captured. Now there it is, on my dashboard, tentatively whispering into the little bubble of private air. And I listen. Songs with no names drift about. I swallow them with ease.
We keep moving through space, catching lonely tunes along the way, criss-crossing like power lines in the sky. Some day I dream that we light up the same pasture.
It was Sunny.